“The museum,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Hurry!”
Before the woman could make her move, they ducked into another street.
The whole town had gone mad. Barely an hour had passed since he’d found Rae in the oblituss, and already Bury St Edmunds was in chaos. No wonder the priests had incarcerated the Tortor so fastidiously.
“This is insane,” he said, dodging out of the way as a snarling man threw himself at him. The man hit the tarmac, growled and staggered to his feet, only to be tackled by a woman in curlers and a dressing gown. She slipped a shard of glass between the man’s ribs and he howled, gurgling up blood.
Zeus barked but refrained from entering the fray.
“He’s trying to destroy everything, isn’t he?” Nicholas said as they hurried on.
“Distraction,” Nale offered gruffly.
“Laurent’s keeping us from getting in his way,” Dawn murmured.
His plan’s working so far. How could they hope to stop Laurent when the townspeople had all lost their minds? The town itself was being gutted, turned into a smoking shell. Come sunrise, there would be nothing left.
“It’s more than that,” Dawn said. “Fire’s associated with destruction and creation. Fires can be used for purification.”
“So this isn’t just for show?” Nicholas asked.
“I think Laurent’s purifying the town. He’s creating a nest for the Dark Prophets. An untainted site for their re-entrance into the world.”
Nicholas saw the market square ahead. It was bathed in fire and smoke choked the air. He felt it worming its way into his skin.
“He’s lost it,” he coughed.
“He doesn’t think like a man anymore,” Dawn muttered. “Because he isn’t one.”
“What else did you find out about him?”
Fear shone in Dawn’s eyes and she shook her head.
“What?” Nicholas pressed. “If it’s important–”
“His power, it’s all... acquired,” Dawn said, not meeting his gaze. “He was powerless before, so he stole the power of others.”
“What do you mean?”
“He used blood... Demon blood. Mixed it with his own. Now he has some of them in him.”
Nicholas stared at her, horrified. He hadn’t known anything like that was even possible. So Laurent was more than just a man, now; he’d corrupted his body in the pursuit of power. If he was capable of that, Laurent was even more dangerous than Nicholas ever imagined.
The market square was a bonfire. Flames roared in shop windows and bodies littered the pavement. The only building as yet untouched by the carnage was the museum. Its windows flickered with the reflected flames, observing the chaos like a patient old man, perhaps knowing it was only a matter of time until it, too, was set ablaze.
Nicholas nervously eyed the people prowling outside the museum. Twenty of them. Possibly more. It was impossible to tell if they were Harvesters or townspeople driven mad by the Tortor. They blocked the museum completely and Nicholas knew that they would put up a fight if he tried to get past them.
It wasn’t a thought that seemed to bother Nale. He strode determinedly into the throng, towering above the sea of heads and knocking people out of the way. He wasn’t using full force, Nicholas noticed. For the time being, he mostly shoved people, landing a blow if it was absolutely necessary.
He was clearing a path to the museum for them.
“What if he–” Dawn began, but Nicholas didn’t want to hear it.
“Come on,” he said, hurrying to the museum’s door. It was locked. Undeterred, Nicholas seized a brick from the ground and hurled it at the nearest window. He shrugged at Dawn. “It’s not like anybody’ll know it was us,” he said, clearing the shards of glass away using his cast. He heaved himself up onto the window ledge and winced as pain shot spikily through his broken arm. Crying out, he tumbled headfirst into the museum.
“Smooth,” Dawn said softly, squeezing through the window and dropping down beside him. She hauled him to his feet and Nicholas shot her a grateful look.
“If he’s here, he probably heard that,” he whispered, drawing the Drujblade.
“You, er... ever used that on anybody?” Dawn asked, eyeing it.
Nicholas nodded. Dawn didn’t seem comforted.
The low lobby was bathed in the fiery glow pouring in through the windows. Other than the sound of people clashing in the square outside, the museum was quiet. Nicholas tried to reach out, feel his way through the building with his mind, but it was as if it was wrapped in invisible netting. Some sort of enchantment stopped him.
“What do you think?” Dawn whispered.
“I think if we were in a horror movie we’d be dead by now.”
“Do we wait for Nale?”
“He’s a bit preoccupied at the moment.”
Though he knew it would be madness to go any further into the museum, Nicholas also knew they had to. If Laurent wasn’t here, perhaps there was some clue that would lead them to his whereabouts. He shuddered, his arm throbbing in the cast, reminding him of the first time he’d gone up against Laurent alone.
Shoving the thought aside, Nicholas stole through the lobby. It was disarmingly peaceful. He tried to flex his thoughts through the building again, sense if there was anybody else here, but he came up against that same impossible webbing.
The ground floor was deserted. They mounted the spiral staircase at the back of the museum and entered the room with the gibbet, the man-sized cage that Nicholas had seen earlier in the week.
In the dark, the glass cases looked sinister, as if their contents were being held against their will.
Something was out of place. As Nicholas surveyed the room, he was drawn to a mannequin in the corner. A woman in a dress, her gaze brooding on the window.
As Nicholas watched, panic rising in his throat, he saw the mannequin let out a breath. Porcelain skin shimmered. Red lips ruptured into a smile.
“Nicholas,” Malika cooed. “You’ve come at last.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Pandemonium
NICHOLAS COULDN’T MOVE AND HE HATED himself. In the corner of the room, Malika was swaddled in shadows, but the sight of her still made his stomach spasm. His heart raced. She was the reason he couldn’t sense anything in the museum. She’d cast a dark net over the building, protecting it from the Tortor, and it had sucked the air from every room.
“You look different,” Malika observed, as if they were old friends. “You’ve matured. And you’ve brought a companion.”
“You ran off last time,” Nicholas managed to mutter. “I had to find somebody else to hang out with.”
Malika laughed and Nicholas shuddered. He noticed a collection of ancient spears just out of reach. If he could grab one of them, he might have a chance against Malika. He’d have to get by her first, though.
“I like this, Nicholas,” she purred. “It’s a shame how events transpired before, but now here we are again. I feel we should embrace.”
Nicholas pointed the Drujblade at her. She raised an eyebrow.
“You’re shy, that’s understandable.”
“Dawn, go,” Nicholas said. “Get Nale.”
“Girl, if you move, you’ll never use your legs again.” The threat whipped from the corner and Nicholas didn’t doubt Malika could carry it out without so much as breaking a sweat.
“So, Nale’s here, too,” she mused. “I do enjoy an old-fashioned reunion.”
“Where’s Laurent?” Nicholas asked. “You’re his dogsbody now, right?”
He could tell he’d struck a nerve. Her shoulders tensed and the amusement died on her lips.
“Careful with those assumptions, manchild,” Malika spat. Nicholas felt there was more she wanted to say, but she restrained herself. “This was delightful, it really was,” she sighed eventually. “But you’ve caught me at an awkward moment. I’m afraid I have other plans to attend to.”
She uttered a peculiar-sounding word and Nicholas f
elt the atmosphere in the room shift. The netting withdrew like a gasped breath; the enchantment protecting the museum evaporated into the ether. It was only a matter of time before the building succumbed to the ravaging fires that crackled around it.
“Whatever you’re doing, stop,” he warned.
He barely saw her move.
Malika threw something at the ceiling. A flash of light blinded him and she was upon them. Any thoughts of seizing one of the spears was forgotten. With one hand, Malika snatched at Nicholas’s broken arm and wrenched it upwards.
Pink stars exploded in front of his eyes. The pain was so intense that Nicholas forgot where he was. Who he was. His bones were jelly and he was only vaguely aware of Dawn hurling herself at Malika. There came the thwack of contact and Dawn tumbled backwards into the stairwell. Through the hot blanket of pain, he heard an awful thumping as she crashed all the way to the ground floor. Then silence.
“Children,” Malika hissed in his ear. She twisted his arm again. Fresh stars erupted and his vision swam. He screamed bloody murder.
“Children shouldn’t meddle in adult affairs,” Malika whispered. She pulled his broken arm, dragging him across the floor. Battling to stay conscious, Nicholas heard creaking metal and then found himself shoved up against something hard. A vibrating clang shook him and Malika’s grip released him.
He slumped against metal bars, resisting the urge to vomit as he cradled his broken arm. Panting, he wiped the sweat from his face. He was soaked through. As his vision cleared, the sharp pain in his arm dulled to a persistent throb and he became aware of where he was.
The gibbet. He was in the gibbet.
“A perfect fit,” Malika smiled, clicking a padlock shut. She inspected something in her hand. The Drujblade.
Nicholas sagged against the side of the gibbet. There was barely any room to move, especially with the backpack still on. The metal cut into him, forcing him to stand upright. He could hear crackling fire and realised that the museum was already ablaze. Smoke roved up through the stairwell and he saw orange, flickering glows swelling.
And through it all his arm pounded like nothing he’d ever felt. If he could tear it from its socket to escape the pain, he would.
Dawn. Nicholas remembered the thumping sounds as she crashed down the stairs. He dreaded to think what sort of state she was in. If she’d landed awkwardly, she could even be...
No, he wouldn’t let himself think it.
Malika’s gaze drilled into him.
She’s changed, Nicholas thought with growing dread. Before, she had been terrifying. Now, her eyes glinted with a cold, clear-sighted determination he’d not seen before. As if everything she had been planning was coming to pass exactly as she’d hoped.
Malika dripping with blood. The image from the seeing glass surfaced in his mind, but he still didn’t know what it meant.
“What are you doing?” he demanded. He didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of seeing that he was afraid. He wouldn’t shake the cage or try to break it open. He’d remain calm. Show her he wasn’t a child. That he wasn’t afraid to die.
“You need me,” he added. “You said before. If I’m dead...” He stopped short, cowed by the look that Malika gave him. It almost seemed to be pity.
“You could have been a powerful ally,” she purred, stroking the Drujblade. “Laurent is foolish. He believes you will see the light when the Prophets arrive. I know better.”
Hopelessly, Nicholas watched Malika handle the Drujblade. His Drujblade. His only defence, taken from him.
“This is the blade that you destroyed Diltraa with,” she observed. “I owe you my gratitude.”
“Gratitude?” The pain was still so intense that Nicholas couldn’t be sure he’d heard Malika correctly.
Malika had served Diltraa, an Adept of the Dark Prophets. Esus destroyed the demon at Hallow House, tore the monster’s head from its shoulders. And now Malika was thanking him for Diltraa’s demise? It didn’t make any sense.
“You freed me,” she hissed.
“I saw you in the room, the pentagon room,” Nicholas murmured, recalling his vision that night in the garden. He’d glimpsed her past. He couldn’t remember it all, but one image stuck fast in his mind: Malika, naked, cowering in the corner of the pentagon room. He still didn’t know what it meant. “What were you doing there? What happened?”
“Such things are of little importance.”
“You wanted Jessica dead,” Nicholas continued. In the days following the break-in at Hallow House, he went over and over what had happened in the gardens, attempting to make sense of it all. He’d assumed Malika simply wanted to eradicate the Sentinels’ guardian, usurp Jessica and send the Sentinels into a panic. “There’s more to it, isn’t there? You wanted her dead for a reason.”
Malika’s gaze threatened to burn right through him.
“Manchild, there’s so much you don’t know. And you never will.”
In a flurry of red she was beside the cage. A pale hand flashed through the bars and seized his free arm, yanking it forward. Her hand was like stone. The blade bit into his palm. Blood pooled and Malika collected it into a vial.
“Mind if I keep this?” she murmured, examining the Drujblade once more. “A souvenir. A reminder of the man you could have been one day. When the world burns, you’ll be by my side; in spirit, at least.”
He wanted to scream. Unable to help himself, he rattled the cage angrily, his bloody palm slipping on the metal bars, but it was futile. He was stuck in there.
Malika turned her back on him. She muttered something under her breath. A prayer or a spell.
Nicholas wasn’t sure if the wooziness was making him imagine things, but the flames that lapped up the stairwell seemed to move slower, as if they’d grown tired.
Time stood still.
Malika shrieked a foreign-sounding word and hurled the bloody vial to the floor. A rush of energy blasted through the building. It shook on its foundations.
With a jolt, he understood what Malika was doing – she was performing the ceremony to open the trikraft. He’d walked straight into it. It was his blood. Laurent had used demon blood to empower himself. Whatever powers the Trinity had placed inside of Nicholas must be in his blood – and Malika was using it to summon the Dark Prophets.
“The knowledge resides within you,” Esus had said. And his power resided in his blood...
A blinding flash of red light erupted from where the vial lay shattered and the ceiling came away.
Through the hole above their heads, Nicholas saw a glimmering red star burning above the museum. It stayed suspended in place like a beacon.
I have to get out of here, he thought.
He shook the cage, but it was no good. He eyed Malika. What had he done in the garden that night? He had broken through her defences, found a way into her mind. If he could do that again, perhaps he could find a way to escape.
“That is how you will fight,” Esus had said. The phantom wanted Nicholas to fight with his mind, not his fists.
Attempting to shut out the thundering pain in his broken arm, he mustered his strength and focussed on Malika. He felt the vibrations in his skull and tried to direct them at her.
Fresh pain tore through him.
Nicholas screamed and his knees gave way. It was as if somebody had split his head open. He slumped against the cage, his vision swimming.
“Now, now,” Malika tutted, wagging a finger at him. “You know it’s rude to pry.”
Through the agony, Nicholas watched her glide to the centre of the room. She had built new defences; ones that his feeble abilities couldn’t hope to overcome.
Apparently satisfied, Malika went to the door. She paused, cast him a look. The flames from the stairwell bathed her in hellfire.
“I’ll give your regards to Jessica,” she murmured. Then she swept away and Nicholas watched in horror as, finally, the room succumbed to the fire.
*
Rae peered around the
tree trunk at the police station. She watched as the police cars out front lit up one by one and tore off into the night, their sirens keening. Remorse stabbed unexpectedly in her chest as she realised that whatever was happening to the town was her fault. She’d let that thing loose from the tunnels. She was responsible for whatever damage it caused; whoever it killed.
A familiar nag filled her ears.
Run. Run away.
The time for running had passed. Perhaps her running days were behind her. She was part of this whether she liked it or not. She wondered where Laurent was. What he was doing. She’d trusted him, accepted that he had wanted to help her. Now she saw that he was one of the monsters he’d spoken about. Perhaps the worst one of all.
Twig. She’d let him down.
“Now what?” she asked the cat.
They had escaped the Harvesters and made for the police station. People seemed to have gone mad. They were fighting in the streets. Setting fire to things and smashing up buildings. Rae, the cat and an elderly woman called Aileen had moved quickly, heading for the station. The others were on their way to the school where the teachers had been killed.
Isabel was perched in a branch above her head, golden eyes set intently on the police station. Rae wondered what her story was. How was it possible for a cat to speak?
“We must locate Samuel’s cell,” Isabel said.
Rae chewed the inside of her cheek. “I blow things up. Could get him out.”
“Too dangerous.” Isabel dismissed her sniffily. “This is something that requires a touch of the old-fashioned.”
“What do you suggest, dear?” asked Aileen. The landlady stood on the other side of the tree. With the sword strapped to her back and her bag full of weapons, she was an incongruous sight. A battlefield granny.
For a fleeting moment, Rae wondered if she was dreaming it all. The monsters, the talking cat, the sword-wielding old lady. She almost wished she was.
“Diversionary tactics,” the cat said.
They listened as Isabel briskly outlined her plan. Rae had no choice but to go along with it, though it sounded crazy. Surely it would be easier to demolish the exterior wall of Sam’s cell? She decided to stick with Isabel’s arrangement, suspecting the cat would flay her alive if she refused.
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